J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [43]
When they came up to where the TV van was parked, there was your typical crime convention, with two Caldwell Police Department cruisers parked at the entrance to Twentieth Avenue’s dead-end alley. As a reporter stood spotlit and addressing a camera, men in uniform walked around within a circle of yellow tape, and kibitzers huddled together, drama-feeding and yakking.
The gust of wind barreling down the alley carried the smell of V’s blood as well as the sweet baby-powder stench of lessers.
“Oh, God…” Butch’s anguish rolled out into the cold night air, adding a sharp, shellaclike tang to the mix.
The cop lurched forward toward the tape, but Phury grabbed the guy’s arm to stop him—only to blanch. The evil in Butch was so palpable, it shot up Phury’s arm and landed in his gut, making his stomach roll.
He held on to his friend anyway.
“You stay the fuck back. You probably worked with some of those badges.” When the cop opened his mouth, Phury talked right over him. “Pop your collar, pull your brim, and hold tight.”
Butch tugged on his Red Sox hat and tucked his jaw in. “If he’s dead—”
“Shut up and worry about keeping yourself on your feet.” Which was going to be a challenge, because Butch was a ragged mess. Jesus…if V was dead, not only would that kill each and every one of the Brothers, but the cop had special problems. After he pulled that Dyson routine with the slayers, V was the only thing that could get the evil out of him.
“Go on, Butch. It’s too much exposure for you. Go on now.”
The cop walked off a couple yards and propped himself up against a parked car in the shadows. When it looked like the guy was going to stay there, Phury went over and joined the hangers-on at the edge of the yellow tape. Surveying the scene, the first thing he noticed were the residuals from where a lesser had been offed. Fortunately, the police weren’t paying attention to them. They probably thought the glossy puddle was just oil spilled from a car and the scorched place leftover from a homeless person’s makeshift fire. No, the badges were concentrating on the center of the scene, where Vishous had clearly lain in a pool of red blood.
Oh…God.
Phury glanced at the random human next to him. “What happened?”
The guy shrugged. “Gunshot. Some kind of fight.”
A young kid dressed in rave clothes spoke up, all hyped out, like this was the coolest thing ever. “It was in the chest. I saw it happen, and I was the one who called nine-one-one.” He waved his cell phone like it was a prize. “The police want me to stick around so they can interview me.”
Phury looked over at him. “What went down?”
“God, you wouldn’t have believed it. It was right outta The World’s Most Shocking Moments Caught on Tape show. You know that show?”
“Yeah.” Phury checked out the buildings on either side of the alley. No windows. This was probably the only witness. “So what happened?”
“Well, all’s I was doing was walking down Trade. My friends ditched me at Screamer’s and I got no ride, you know? Anyway, I’m walking and I see this bright flash of light up ahead. It was like a massive strobe thingy coming out of this alley. I walked a little faster, ’cause I wanted to see what was going down, and that’s when I heard the gunshot. It was like a pop sound. Actually, I didn’t even know it was a gunshot until I got here. You’d think it’d be louder—”
“When did you call nine-one-one?”
“Well, I waited a little bit, ’cause I figured someone would come running out of the alley and I didn’t want to be shot. But, like, no one came, so I figured they’d disappeared out some back way or something. Then when I walked down here, I saw that there’s no other way out. So maybe he shot himself, you know?”
“What the guy look like?”
“The vic?” The kid leaned in. “Vic is what the police call the victim. I heard ’em.”
“Thanks for the clarification,” Phury muttered. “So what did he look like?”
“Dark hair. With a goatee. Lot of leather. I stood over him while I called nine-one-one. He was bleeding, but alive.